When Life Shuts A Door
by Xaiban
Summary: Harry Potter, a seventeen year-old wizard with above average magical talent, is forced to let go of everything and everyone he knows and establish a new life for himself in a world that, while similar to his own, is also heartbreakingly different.
1. Chapter 1

Daphne Greengrass was lying in bed trying to get comfortable. Her bedroom had been heating up for the past five minutes or so. It was getting to the point that she was starting to sweat. Daphne climbed out of bed and as she was walking to her door, a ball of fire appeared in the middle of her room. As the flames began to die down, she was able to see a figure standing in the center of the flames. The fire was so bright that once it had completely dissipated she was unable to see in the darkness that filled her room. She rushed to her bedside table and retrieved her wand, feeling safer she chose to find out who was in her room.

"Who are you?" she said, as confidently as she could muster at the moment.

In return all Daphne heard was a grunt, heavy breathing, and what sounded like someone falling. She quickly cast the 'Lumos' spell and illuminated the room. Once her eyes had adjusted to the light she saw the figure on their hands and knees, clutching one hand to their side.

"Dipsy!" she called.

"Madame, calls for Dip-" the self said before she was interrupted.

"Get my parents, tell them there is someone in my room. Now," she all but screamed.

Once the small elf had gone, Daphne slowly approached the figure. She kept her wand pointed toward the person, who she could now make out was a man.

"Who are you?" she said forcefully. She could hear footsteps, thundering on the stairs at the end of the hall.

Instead of answering the man looked around to see where he was. When he finally looked at her, he seemed confused. But not nearly as confused as she was now that she could make out the identity of the man on her floor.

"D-daphne?" he said, blood running down his chin.

"Stupefy!" she said, casting the stunning spell, and watched as he fell limp to the ground.

Daphne had never been more confused than she was at that moment. For starters she was surprised that someone appeared in her room in a ball of fire. Then on top of that he actually knew her name. As far she knew they had never spoken, and yet he spoke her name with a familiarity that confused her to no end.

Daphne's father came through the door quickly, wand drawn, followed closely by her mother. With a wave of his wand he lit the room. Seeing a young man lying in the middle of her room, face down in a small pool of blood, made his heart swell with pride. Not that his daughter had potentially killed someone, but that she had defended herself well. After insuring that his daughter was okay, he moved over to the man. Now that he was closer he noticed that this wasn't a man, but a boy seventeen at most. But that wasn't what he really noticed, it was the scar on the boy's forehead that he recognized. Here lying on his daughter's bedroom floor, was the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter. Not only that, but by the looks of him, his daughter had nearly pummeled the life out of him. Luckily his wife was a healer at St. Mungo's and would be able to heal him. Though what disturbed him most, was that his wife mentioned that the severing curse used to cut the boy appeared to be very dark in nature.

Once the boy had been brought back from the brink of death, he questioned his daughter about what had happened before he arrived. Daphne explained everything in perfect detail and he was glad to hear that his daughter was not studying the dark arts. Now he just had to decide how to proceed with the boy who was now resting in a spare bedroom. As far as he knew, Dumbledore was the boy's guardian, he would have to be notified. With nothing else to do he got his family, except for Astoria who had managed to sleep through everything, back to bed.

When Harry woke the next morning all he felt was pain from his right side. Pulling the sheet down his topless form, he noticed the dark red scar just below his ribs. Trying to sit up, the pain immediately told him it was a bad idea. A hand touched his shoulder and gently pushed him back down. Startled Harry turned to see who he had overlooked, when he saw who it was he let out a sigh of relief.

"Celia, you have no idea how good it is to see you." Harry said. "How bad was it?"

The woman, Celia Greengrass, was shocked to find out that Harry Potter knew who she was. This was the first time she'd ever been in the same room as the boy. Though he seemed comforted by her presence, as if he trusted her. Mistaking the look on her face as an answer to his question, Harry grimaced.

"That bad, eh?" he said. "How mad is Daphne? She seemed pretty pissed last night."

"She was a little startled. It's not everyday someone, the-boy-who lived no less, just appears in a burst of fire." She replied.

"Suppose I'll be paying for that one." He chuckled, grimacing in pain. "She'll forgive me though, she always does."

After giving Harry a sleeping potion and applying a new bandage, Celia left the room. Moving into her husband's study, she saw him sitting at his desk looking over paperwork from the ministry. He looked up as she entered and stood to join her on the small love seat in front of the fireplace.

"I take it the boy is awake?" he asked.

"He was." She answered, with a curious look on her face.

"By the look on your face," he said. "I'd say he must have said something interesting."

Celia took a moment to organize her thoughts, before she spoke.

"It was like he knew me." She said. "He knew my name, that I was a healer. He even spoke as if he and Daphne were close."

"How so?" he asked, his curiosity peaked.

So she told him about her encounter with the strange boy-who-lived. When she was done he was just as confused as she was. Daphne had made it clear the night before that she had never had contact with the boy. However the way Potter talked it was as if he knew their entire family, or at least his wife and daughter.

"When he wakes, I'd like to speak with him." He said, with a sigh. "For now, I need to contact Dumbledore."

When his wife left the room he took a pinch of Floo powder and called the headmasters office at Hogwarts. After a few moments he saw the old headmaster appear in his fireplace.

"Thaddeus, to what do I owe this pleasure?" Dumbledore asked, with his trademark smile.

"Good day, headmaster. You are Harry Potter's guardian, am I correct?" he asked, ignoring that Dumbledore had used his hated first name. He had on several occasion asked the headmaster to call him Tom, like everyone else does.

"I am," Dumbledore answered, his smile almost disappearing. "Is there something I can help you with?"

As he explained what had happened the night before, he could see the color draining from Dumbledore's face. Were the situation not so serious he might have laughed.

"I see, I have something I need to look into," said Dumbledore, with a distant expression. "Would you mind if I came over when I'm finished?"

"Of course, I'll be expecting you some time after lunch, good day Headmaster." He said as he closed his Floo connection.

Albus Dumbledore wasted no time in apperating to number four Privet Drive, where Harry was living with his aunt. It was still rather early, the sun was just beginning to rise. Without knocking Albus waved his wand, unlocking and opening the door. Moving quickly up the stairs Albus made his way to Harry's bedroom. Keeping his wand at the ready, Albus slowly opened the door. Inside the room he saw nothing out of the ordinary. Harry was asleep in his bed and Hedwig stood alert on her perch, watching as the headmaster moved closer to Harry. Waving his wand over the sleeping boy, Albus identified him as Harry Potter. _'If Harry is at home, then who had broken into Greengrass Manor?'_ he thought to himself.

Daphne stood beside the bed that Harry was sleeping on, watching him as he slept. However, she was not doing this out of choice. Her mother had declared that he was not to be left alone, his wound could re-open and she would need to know immediately. While watching him, Daphne realized that he looked different than he had at the end of the last term. His face was leaner, and he appeared to have some facial hair lightly growing in. His hair was also brushed off of his forehead. Having never been this close to him, Daphne took the opportunity to get a good look at his scar. To say the least, she wasn't very impressed. She had heard the story of the fall of Lord Voldemort, but she never truly believed a child could defeat him. To her it looked like a normal scar. Maybe the story was a lie, a cover. Maybe the Potters sacrificed themselves to destroy the Dark Lord, and Harry was just a scapegoat to answer the unanswered questions. Perhaps his scar was caused by a fall when he was a child, or maybe his father had dropped him on his head, the Potter line was not known for their intelligence. _'That would explain a few things,'_ she mused to herself. Harry stirred in the bed, breaking her from her thoughts.

"You're not going to hex me yet are you?" Harry asked.

Daphne wasn't sure what to make of his question. He hadn't even opened his eyes, he couldn't have known who stood by his bed. So she chose to say nothing.

Not hearing a reply Harry opened his eyes and looked at Daphne. They just stared at each other, as if in an unspoken competition to see who would blink first.

"Damn it," Harry muttered as he looked away.

Daphne had a small, barely noticeable smirk of victory on her face. Daphne was very competitive, and she relished even the smallest of victories.

"You're never going to let me win one of those are you?" Harry asked.

"Excuse me?" she asked, in a rather stern tone. She was confused, once again he spoke as if he knew her.

"Alright, alright. I'm sorry about just popping into your room last night," he said. "I needed to get somewhere safe, and there is nowhere I feel safer than with you."

Of all the things Harry Potter could have said about unexpectedly appearing in her room in a ball of fire, she was not expecting that.

"W-What," was all a wide eyed Daphne could get out at the moment. Thankfully he did not have time to confuse her further, as her mother entered the room.

"Daphne you may go, I need to change his bandages." Celia said. "Also, tell your father that he is awake."

"Yes, mother," Daphne replied, before turning and leaving the room.

"Good morning, Celia," Harry said.

"Actually, it's almost midday," She responded.

"Well, you do you brew one hell of a sleeping potion." He said with a chuckle.

"It's the extra Flob-" she started before being interrupted.

"Valerian Sprigs, I know," he said with a laugh. "Daphne wouldn't shut up about it when you finally told her your secret."

"Actually, I was going to say the extra Flobberworm Mucus," she replied stunned. "How do you know the secret of my sleeping potion?"

"I told you, Daphne wouldn't shut up about it," he said with a smile. "Don't worry though, she only told me about it."

' _This boy…'_ Celia thought to herself. Her daughter had some explaining to do. She had told them that she had no contact with the boy. Obviously that wasn't true, Celia hadn't even told her husband the secret of her sleeping potion. Daphne was the only other person she had told the recipe.

"Well, you've healed nicely. The wounded area is still a little bit red and may be sensitive, but it shouldn't open up again," she said after removing the bandages.

"That's a relief," Harry said. "I believe I've lay here long enough."

"My husband will want to speak with you," she said, moving over to the closet and removing a shirt for him. "Here, this may not be your size but it will be okay for now."

"Thanks," Harry said climbing out of bed. "I bet he's been pretty anxious, waiting for me to heal enough for him to tear into."

"And why would he want to 'tear into' you?" she asked confusedly.

"Oh come on, you know he never approved of my relationship with Daphne," he said, whilst putting on the shirt.

"And what exactly is your relationship with Daphne?" she probed, hoping to get a little info.

"Are you feeling alright Celia?" he asked with a concerned tone.

Realizing she had raised his suspicion, she played it off as best she could. She wished now more than ever that she had been in Slytherin with Tom rather than in Ravenclaw.

"I'm fine, this way Tom will be waiting for us." She said, walking from the room.

When they arrived outside of her husband's study, Celia knocked on the door before gently pushing it open. Inside, Daphne was sitting in the arm chair opposite the couch, while her husband was sitting behind his desk.

When his wife and Harry had entered, Tom raised his head and looked at the boy. He seemed to have healed a bit, but he still had bags under his eyes. He stood from his desk and walked over to where they were standing. He noticed that Harry's posture had become more rigid the closer he got.

"Well son, how are you feeling?" Tom asked.

"Excuse me?" Harry asked, seemingly confused by the question.

"How are you feeling, that was a pretty nasty wound you had there." Tom said. "You're lucky that my wife here, is a healer or you would have been long dead by now."

"What's going on?" Harry asked. "You've never cared about how I felt before."

"You speak as if we've met before," Tom said. "But I know for a fact that I have never seen nor spoken to you."

Seeing that Tom was serious, Harry turned to look at Celia and Daphne, and from the looks on their faces, Harry believed they were wondering the same thing.

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked, doubtfully. "We met at Christmas break of our first year, Daphne introduced us. Are you all having one over on me?"

From the looks he was getting, Harry could tell they had no idea what he was talking about. Tom looked confused but curious, Celia looked concerned, and Daphne was looking at Harry as if he were stupid.

"Mr. Potter, I can assure you no one is pranking you." Tom responded.

"This isn't funny," Harry said. "I know you've never liked me but this is just cruel. You're looking at me as if you don't even know me."

"I don't understand what you're talking about Mr. Potter," Tom said. "As far as I know this is the first time we have ever spoken."

"I don't understand, why you're all acting like this," Harry said.

"Dear, perhaps it would be best to call for the headmaster now." Celia said, concerned that the situation may be more serious than they thought at first.

"The headmaster?" Harry asked.

"I think you're right Celia, would you?" he asked his wife. After Celia had left the room, Tom turned back to Harry.

He watched the boy for a few moments, before making his way over the couch and taking a seat. Once he had gotten comfortable, Tom looked to see how Daphne was reacting to all of this. As far as he could tell his daughter was unaffected by any of what had happened in the last few minutes. A part from a little confusion, she appeared to be her normal self.

"Please, come sit down Mr. Potter," Tom asked.

"I don't need to sit down!" Harry nearly shouted. "I need someone to tell me what the bloody hell is going on!"

"That's no way to speak to your host young man," Harry heard a voice say. It sounded familiar to him, but at the same time he couldn't quite place it. Turning around slowly, Harry looked into the face of a ghost.

"Dumbledore," Harry whispered. The man had been dead for more than a year, no one knew exactly what happened to him, but his body was found in the ministry atrium shortly before Voldemort returned. With every step the man took into the room, Harry took one step back. Patting his pockets he realized he didn't have his wand. "Who are you?" he asked.

"I am Albus Dumbledore, and you are?" asked Dumbledore.

"You can't be. Albus Dumbledore is dead." Harry said. "He has been for more than a year now."

"While I may not be as young as I once was, I am certainly not dead young man." Dumbledore said. "Now if you would answer my question, as I have answered yours?"

"Harry Potter, as if there is anyone in England who didn't already know," Harry said.

"Ah, but you see young man just this morning, I visited young Mr. Potter at his home." Dumbledore replied. "And he was in bed, asleep."

"What?" harry asked, more confused than ever. Then it dawned on him, he had been fleeing a fight with Voldemort just before he apparated to Greengrass Manor. He must have been captured and put under some kind of illusion. But why would Voldemort put him under an illusion spell, why not just kill him? "This isn't real," he whispered.

"Excuse me?" asked Dumbledore.

"You're going to have to try harder than this if you want it Tom." Harry said, with a smirk.

"What do you mean?" Tom asked. "What is it that you think I want?"

"Not you, Thaddeus," Harry said. "Tom Riddle, I know what you want. I even know where it is. But you'll never get it."

The courteous manner that Dumbledore had put on display all but vanished as soon as he heard that name.

"And what exactly is it that Tom wants, young man." Dumbledore asked, trying to remain civil.

"Why should I tell you?" Harry asked. "You're not even real."

"And what makes you believe I am not real?" Dumbledore asked.

"Well, you are dead," Harry said, pointing at Dumbledore. "You have never been this nice to me," he said pointing to Tom. "The other two act like they don't even know me, therefore you all can't be real. None of you are acting like yourselves."

"I see," said Dumbledore. "And what could I say to make you believe that we are, indeed, real?"

"Well, illusion charms are uncontrollable. Once cast, the user has no influence over the charm. The spell uses the memories of the target to build a reconstruction of reality, and then uses the people of the targets past to coerce information from the target." Harry explained. "So, tell me something I don't know."

"I see," Dumbledore started. "It appears that you're well versed in the art of mind magic. Let's see, as for something you don't know. I am wearing purple polka-dotted underwear and socks with little animated dinosaurs on them."

"How did you do that?" Harry asked, seemingly alarmed. "Show me your socks!"

Dumbledore lifted his robes just high enough for everyone in the room to see his socks. They were blue and had little green animated dinosaurs on them.

"That's not possible," Harry whispered. "I've never thought of blue socks with animated dinosaurs."

"That would mean this is real then wouldn't it?" Dumbledore asked.

"But you've been dead for more than a year," Harry said. "You were found dead, June 30th 1997." Harry noticed everyone was looking around at each other. As if he had said something shocking.

"1997, you say?" Dumbledore asked. "Well I think we've found our problem Mr. Potter. You see, it is currently August 1st 1996."

"1996," Harry whispered. "How is that possible?"

"The topic of time-travel is not exactly common conversation," said Dumbledore. "However, I'm sure you've heard of time-turners. Time-travel is a very real branch of magic, though it is very difficult to move more than a few hours at a time."

With the unexpected turn in the conversation, Harry made his way to the couch and sat beside Tom. He buried his face in his hands, and took a deep breath. While he was exhaling, a thought struck him. He looked up at Daphne from his spot on the couch.

"You don't know me." He said.

"And here I thought we'd already established that," she replied.

"No, I mean yes, but what I meant was that you knew me in 1996." He said, frantically. "We met on the train in first year, you convinced me to join Slytherin, you've been my best friend since we were eleven. How can you not know me?"

"When you appeared in my room, that was the first time I ever spoke to you." Daphne said.

Harry looked to Dumbledore, who had a curious look on his face.

"How?" he asked. "How do they not know me?"

"I have never heard of it happening before, but its possible you managed to jump to a different dimension instead of time-travel." Dumbledore said. "Tell me what were you doing before you appeared in Miss Greengrass' room?

Harry took a second to think of how he wanted to respond. He didn't know Dumbledore that well, and he wasn't sure if he wanted tell him too much.

"You were the first to disappear." Harry said, looking at Dumbledore. "A few months later, you were found in the ministry atrium, dead. That's how things got started, Voldemort was somehow able to get himself a new body. It wasn't long after you were found that he showed himself for the first time."

"He didn't show himself until after I was already dead?" Dumbledore asked.

"You had been telling me that he wasn't dead," he said. "It was one of the few things you were able to tell me before you disappeared. You said that his body was destroyed, but he somehow survived. We assumed that he used you to get his new body, we never figured out how."

"I see," Dumbledore said. "When you say 'we' who do you mean?"

"Myself, Daphne and Tracey," he said. "We've been close since first year."

"At least we have some time to prepare for his return," Harry said.

"Ah, unfortunately in this 'dimension' he has already returned." Dumbledore said.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Last year during the Tri-Wizard Tournament he managed to capture our Harry, and used him to create a new body for himself." Dumbledore said.

"But, earlier you said that you visited, him at home and that he was asleep." Harry said confused.

"Yes, he managed to escape," said Dumbledore. "I see that you're not surprised to hear about the tournament. May I assume that the tournament happened in your own time?"

"Yes, it did. I don't understand how your Harry managed to get captured," he said.

"It happened during the third task," Dumbledore said. "A member of my staff was impersonated, and they bewitched the Tri-Wizard Cup to transport whoever touched it to Voldemort."

"That doesn't explain how Harry got transported," he said.

"Harry was one of the contestants." Dumbledore said.

"Sounds like your Harry has all the fun," Harry said, with a chuckle. "The highlight of my fourth year was Daphne dragging me to the Yule ball."

"Well weren't you lucky," Daphne said, with a sneer.

"Yes I was," Harry said smirking at her. He hated seeing that look on her face.

*cough*

Harry looked over to see Tom giving him a look.

"Are you sure you don't remember me?" Harry asked Tom.

"Quite," he replied.

"Déjà vu," he said.

"If we could get back to the topic at hand please?" Dumbledore suggested, with a smile. "I appreciate the little bit of your history that you have shared with us, but I am more curious about what you were doing right before you arrived here."

"Right," Harry said. "I was fighting Voldemort, and losing."

"I see," Dumbledore said. "Can you remember anything specific that happened just before you arrived?"

"Priori Incantatem, it happens every time we fight," he said. "Except this time Tom came prepared. He drew a second wand, and cast the killing curse. I tried to apparate away and the next thing I know I'm looking up at Daphne from the floor."

"I see," Dumbleore said. "The same thing happened in our Harry's fight with him last year. It's the core that your wands share, it allows them to connect."

"Speaking of wands, any chance I could get mine back please?" Harry asked.

Harry looked to Tom and then to Celia, they both appeared uncomfortable. Finally, someone spoke up.

"I'm sorry, but your wand burnt up when you burst into Daphne's room," Tom said.

"Burnt up?" he asked.

"Yes, from the inside from the looks of it." Tom said.

"So, I have no house, no money, no family, no friends. I don't even have my wand. This is a great mess I've wondered into this time," he murmured. "You weren't kidding when you said I had a talent for trouble Tom."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Hello, I'm not really sure where this is going, but let's not worry about it and just enjoy it while it lasts.

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* * *

Harry loves the Astronomy Tower, it is his favorite place in all of Hogwarts. The highest viewpoint that one could achieve without a broomstick. He could stand in one place and see for miles in each direction. However, this view had never made him feel smaller than he felt at this moment. He was in a world that was not his own, there were now two Harry Potters in this world. The Greengrasses had offered to let Harry stay with them until Dumbledore decided what would be best given his circumstances, but he didn't want to impose. They don't know him, she doesn't know him.

He couldn't handle seeing her look at him that way, her indifference hurt him more than any curse. She was so beautiful when she would give him a small coy grin. Now she barely looked at him, and even when she did it seemed like she barely acknowledged his existence. He could still see the girl he knew underneath, she hid herself well, but he known her too long not to notice her pain. She was lonely. From what he had gathered from Astoria, Tracey had been spending more and more time with Erny Macmillan, which meant leaving Daphne on her own more often.

"I thought I might find you here," said a voice from behind him, breaking him from his thoughts. "It seems that you are not so different from the boy I've come to know."

"I suppose on some level that we must be similar," Harry responded. "But I highly doubt that we are so similar that you could accurately predict my next move."

"Perhaps, yet here we are," said Dumbledore, with that smug, all-knowing tone.

"I think you underestimate just how much I know about Hogwarts, Headmaster," he said, turning to look Dumbledore in the eye. "I know about the map in your office. The same map that my father and his friends copied and called their own."

"Indeed?" said Dumbledore. "I had no idea that they had done so. I suppose it would explain how they managed to avoid detention in their later years. No doubt it was your father's idea, but Remus did the spell work I would think. As talented as James Potter was in transfiguration, he was rather average when it came to charms."

"I assume you did not track me down to discuss my father's history?" he asked.

"Quite right Harry," Dumbledore started. "I have decided that it would be best for you to remain here at Hogwarts for the time being."

"And how do you propose I do that?" he asked. "You have term starting in a couple of weeks."

"I have thought of that and I've decided that you will be posing as a transfer student from Durmstrang," Dumbledore replied.

"Have you forgotten that I look almost exactly the same as the Harry of this world?" he asked incredulously.

"Of course not, and I have a solution. Last year was the Triwizard Tournament. After hearing so many things about Harry Potter from your returning classmates you, Adrian Potter relative of Harry Potter, decided that you would like to meet him."

"You expect people to believe that Harry Potter has a long lost relative that just happens to show up the moment the dark lord returns? Have you lost what little remained of your mind?" he all but sneered.

"Firstly, the general public is denying Voldemort's return," Dumbledore began, ignoring the jab at his state of mind. "Secondly, it is not uncommon for wizarding families to have members of said family live in other countries. As you are several years older than our Harry no one would believe that you are in fact Harry Potter."

He supposed Dumbledore did have a point even though the resemblance between this world's Harry and himself would be striking, the age difference would never lead anyone to assume that they were one and the same. In his younger days he had gotten quite good at hiding in plain sight. A glamour charm on his eyes to change their color, and some muggle makeup to hide his scar and no one would look at him twice, and the name Adrian Potter at least had a nice sound to it.

"Adrian Potter," he said. "Could be worse I suppose. I still do not have a wand, it will be expected of me to have one."

"Yes, of course," replied Dumbledore. "That is the other reason I've come to find you. I have spoken with Garrick Ollivander, and he will be expecting us after lunch, this afternoon."

'Finally,' he thought. It had been a week since he had used any magic. He tried to do some wandless, but found he just didn't have the focus for it. He hated that he had lost his Holly and Phoenix wand, it just seemed to understand him. Not to mention the wand core it shared with Voldemort's own wand had saved his life more times than he could remember.

"Is there any way that he could craft me a new wand?" he asked. "Perhaps a wand that also shared a core with Voldemort's wand?"

"Unfortunately not," Dumbledore informed him. "If there is one thing that Garrick is willing to share on the topic of wand lore, it is simply this: the wand chooses the wizard. There is no way to know if the wand would choose you or not, therefore this would most likely lead to a waste of time."

"I see," he replied. "Thank you, Headmaster for all you've done for me. In my world, you and I were never very close, you had barely said a few words to me before fifth year. Of course, you disappeared soon after that, so we didn't have a chance to get to know one another. I'm glad that I have gained a chance to change that."

"Of course, Harry. I mean Adrian," Dumbledore corrected himself. "As I like to say, help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who need it. I will be in my office if you need anything more. I'll send an elf for you when it is time for us to visit Ollivander's."

* * *

Diagon Alley was in much better shape in this world than in his. Families streamed here and there collecting supplies for their children's upcoming school year. In his world, the alley was near abandoned. No one save for Deatheaters and their families would dare to come here. For the first time, Harry thought that maybe it was a good thing that he had been brought here. Voldemort was not expecting two Potters, and that gave them an advantage.

Taking a break from his thoughts, Adrian noticed that people were looking at him with an expression kin to fear, and loathing. It was shocking to him. In his world Harry Potter had always been revered, but here it seems that Harry had done something to drive his image to ruin. Looking to his left, he noticed that Dumbledore was also receiving the same looks. He could not for the life of him figure out what they could have done to deserve such detestation from the public.

Arriving at Ollivander's, Adrian was glad to finally be out of the public eye and into a more secluded setting. The shop looked exactly as he remembered it from his trip to the alley his first year. As he took in the room he couldn't help but agree with his eleven-year-old self, there was entirely too much glass to be in a wand shop. Children were constantly trying wands in here, he himself had broken countless trinkets during his first wand testing.

"Ah, Mister Potter," said Ollivander, coming out from between some shelves. "I've been expecting you, I was very disturbed to hear what had happened to your first wand. However, not to worry. We will get you a new wand, and you shall be right as rain. Albus, good to see you as always, but if we could get down to business I would be very appreciative. This is my busy season you understand."

Thankfully it would only take ten wands before he would find a match. It was a rather plain looking wand. It had a smooth finish, and a light stain that gave it the look of muggle hardwood flooring. There was no fancy designs or carvings, it was in fact rather mundane.

"Ah, very good Mister Potter," Ollivander exclaimed. "Thirteen and a half inches, made from Beechwood, with a Thunderbird's tail feather. Slightly springy, excellent for transfiguration."

While the wand may have looked plain, its power was undeniable. This wand was an even better match than his old Holly and Phoenix wand. He never thought he would find a wand that fit so well.

"Thank you, Mr. Ollivander," he said. "I appreciate you taking the time to accommodate us."

"Of course, Mister Potter," Ollivander replied. "That'll be seven galleons for the wand."

It was at this moment that he remembered he didn't have any money. It wasn't as if his little trans-dimensional trip was planned.

"Professor," he started. "We forgot to go Gringotts, before coming here. I haven't any money to pay for the wand."

"Not to worry, my boy," Dumbledore replied. "I will be covering the cost myself."

* * *

The weeks following his trip to Diagon Alley past quickly for Adrian. He passed the time by reviewing the material he would need for the semester. The less time he had to spend studying the better. He would rather spend his time making Daphne laugh, he could only hope that she would give him the chance. However, there were many other things that would require his attention. Though Voldemort may not be directly after Adrian Potter, he still could not afford to assume that he was safe. The name Potter alone should be enough to paint a target on his back.

The most surprising thing to Adrian was how easy magic seemed to be for him with his new wand. Every spell he knew was more powerful, and faster than they had been with his holly wand. He didn't understand how, but it seemed like his magic was just working better. He was thankful for this as it would make his year even easier, allowing him to focus on more important things rather than classes he had already taken. Classes which started in a few days. The students would be arriving tomorrow, and though Adrian was excited to See Daphne, he wasn't sure how to approach her. In his first year she had been the one to come to him, all he had done was be nice and she just accepted him into her circle. Though now that he thought about it, it was more like she forced him into her circle, and with that thought he knew exactly what to say.

* * *

The Trophy Room. They were making him wait in the Trophy Room. Not that he didn't enjoy seeing all the trophies with his father's name on them, the trophies that Sirius wouldn't shut up about. Don't misunderstand, he is proud of his father's achievements, but Sirius was always comparing them. One Halloween, whilst drunk, Sirius asked Harry why he couldn't be more like James. They didn't talk for a while after that, but Harry never forgave him for it. Sirius never thought about what he said, and more over even if he had done or said something wrong, he wasn't the type to apologize, he just swept it under the rug, pretended it didn't happen.

Adrian's thoughts were interrupted by the door to the great hall opening, his queue as it were. He checked his reflection in the trophy case one last time. His scar was covered with muggle makeup, and he had swapped his glasses out for some muggle contact lenses that made his eyes a light blue. While he still carried a strong resemblance, it was unlikely that any would think he was Harry Potter. One deep breath later and he was out the door, walking toward McGonagall and her little stool that he absolutely refused to sit on.

He managed not to look for Daphne, but it was oh so tempting. In the end he settled for ignoring everyone and just looking around the room, not making eye contact with anyone. When he finally reached McGonagall, he cleared his throat and stood proud.

"Adrian Potter, reporting for sorting," he said, smirking at the witch who had gone pale. It seems that Dumbledore didn't tell his Deputy Headmistress the name of her new student.

"Please take a seat and place the sorting hat on your head," she said after regaining her senses.

He placed the hat on his head, but he refused to sit on her little stool. He immediately felt the familiar feeling of the hat's consciousness slip into his mind.

' _Well, well, what have we here? An interesting turn in today's events. I do say, I think I have seen this mind before,_ ' the hat said.

' _Hello to you as well. It has been some time since you've graced my head,_ ' Adrian replied.

' _I see, my, my, you're naughty one eh? It seems you and I have had a few adventures, though I can't say I remember them,_ ' said the hat.

' _Perhaps I can come and see you soon, and help you recall,_ ' he said.

' _That I would appreciate. Now let's get you sorted, eh? Ah, I see, well you would have done well anywhere to be honest,_ ' the hat said.

"Slytherin!" the hat exclaimed, to the surprise and shock of most.

Adrian placed the hat back onto the stool and walked toward the Slytherin table. All the while listening to the whispers and gossip, it wouldn't be long before his first confrontation and he hoped it would be the blond ego with legs, but chances were it would be an upper year. There didn't seem to be anywhere to sit, at least with people he wanted to sit with, so he sat with the first years. He could feel the eyes of many people looking at him, but one pair of eyes felt different than the rest. Looking up the table he saw, not Daphne, but Tracey Davis giving him a look. That could mean only one thing, Daphne had told her about him, and the list of people who knew his true identity grew.

* * *

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END - Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think.


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